


Night Shift

by SleepingReader



Category: Original Work
Genre: Author loves descriptions a little too much, Creepy with a happy ending, Fluff, Gen, Soft and spooky, Spooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 22:57:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20182108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepingReader/pseuds/SleepingReader
Summary: When the farmer sleeps, Something rises from the pond.It stands there on the edge, dripping...But it can't go inside.Not yet.Not while the candle burns.





	Night Shift

When the farmer sleeps, something rises from the pond. At first, it seems like a clump of algae being tossed on the side by a careless toad. But it slowly takes the form of a hand. Stinking, rotting algae sloshing around the sodden palm. It takes a lot of effort to keep something like that moving.  
But it does. It rises out of the pond.  
It stands there, on the edge, dripping. It’s about the size of a smallish bookcase, and someone watching it might be faintly reminded of a human, if it wasn’t for the fish. The two sideways orange-white fish, in the place where eye sockets should be. The fish are the Something’s eyes for the night. The fish flop around sometimes, their souls still trying to swim.  
A ghostly rattle disturbs the night air and the sheep as the Something’s lungs get used to oxygen.  
It stands, dripping, on the edge of the pond.  
But it won’t go inside the farmhouse yet.  
Not yet.  
Not while the candle burns. 

The farmer, meanwhile, cuddles up more into his blanket. The orange light of the dimming scented candle on his bedside table casts shadows across the room. It smells like lemongrass, but only a little.  
The orange light falls on the slippers next to the bed. The slippers have a sort of muscle-memory, in that they would know the way to the farmer’s mud-encrusted boots even if they weren’t filled with feet.  
The light falls on the ginger beard and the lump of blankets and spreads and pillows that is the farmer. It falls on the painted tractor on the wall. It falls on the farmer's outfit for tomorrow, a sturdy pair of trousers paired with the soft flannel shirt the lambs love so much.  
The light leaves the candle, flickering once on the farmer’s cheek in good-night. 

Creeping under the bedroom door, the light might catch a glimpse of the red carpet, the dining table and the kitchen, where the farmer had just finished his dinner. A cup of sheep’s milk, with a side of potatoes, carrots and a nice meatball. The gravy is sticking to the plate. The plate is sticking to the lunch plate, melted grilled cheese glueing the two plates together. A bowl of oatmeal sits in the sink, a puddle of water inside it, in the faint hope it will clean itself.  
The farmer will have to clean it tomorrow. 

The light travels through the back door where the dog is snoring, through the barn where the cat is entertaining an awoken lamb by catching a mouse. Through the cheese-room, towards the pond.  
Where Something is waiting.  
The light of the candle stops.  
It seems to look back at the farmhouse.  
It can’t stay. It can’t protect its farmer anymore.  
The Something takes its first step… 

When the farmer sleeps, Something rises from the pond.  
It stands there, on the edge, dripping.  
Then it goes inside and quietly washes the dishes.


End file.
